by Amity Cross
“Thank you for the computers,” I called out, the words sounding larger than life in the empty gallery.
I expected him to keep walking and not acknowledge me at all since his temper seemed to be raised, but he paused and glanced over his shoulder. He nodded once, then disappeared outside.
My hand curled around the doorjamb as I listened to the sound of a car coming to life, and I sighed as the sound of tires crunching over gravel signaled his departure. Wherever he was going, I hoped he was coming back afterward.
Returning to the office, I scolded myself for the rash thought. Mr. Rochester was interested in the rejuvenation of Thornfield as one of his most valuable holdings, not because he had a romantic interest in one of his paid subordinates.
When I looked at him, I did not see a man who was interested in such whimsy. I saw a powerful man who took what he desired with little regard for wooing his conquest. He did not make concessions or pause to reflect on their feelings. His command had empowered me to follow blindly before, so he had no need to shower me or anyone else with gifts.
Truthfully, I did not want them. Possessions did not fill me with the satisfaction conversation and understanding did.
Helping Alice lift one of the iMacs onto the desk, I listened politely as she chattered about Edward and the computers, adding a thought here and there to placate her. She seemed to think he thought of me as a favorite and that I had won his respect, but I wasn’t brave enough to believe her.
Later that night, when Thornfield had finally lulled into a deep silence, I curled up in bed and opened the iPad, scarcely believing it was for me. The first thing I found was the iBooks app. Connecting to the hotel’s patchy Wi-Fi, I downloaded all the classics—Vanity Fair, Sense and Sensibility, Anna Karenina, Wuthering Heights, and more still—and each filled the memory like a welcome friend.
It was a generous gift indeed, but with all these books at my disposal, I didn’t have any need to go to the library. The more my mind mulled over this revelation, the more I began to believe Edward was trying to discourage me from his presence. It didn’t make sense to give me everything I could ask for and then replace the one thing I cherished the most.
An electronic book was a poor replacement for the chance of seeing Edward Rochester.
The puzzle had become more complex the more pieces I slotted together, hindering any progress I’d already made toward finding out who the man was at his core. Perhaps I’d never know, and that was a sad thought. Humans wanted to understand the world and each other, but they also wanted to be understood themselves.
Why should he hide? I was not at all comfortable with not knowing.
It was past one a.m. by the time I fell asleep, my eyes sore from reading and the tablet underneath the pillow beside me.
Why should he hide, indeed.
9
When I descended to the office the next morning, I found the gallery in chaos.
Lingering on the stairs, I began to fret I’d missed an important appointment.
“What’s going on?” I asked anyone who would listen.
Alice glanced up at my arrival and replied, “Rocky has left. You have just missed him.”
I stilled on the bottom step, the words coming as a blow. “Left?”
“It’s usual for him,” she explained as silence took Thornfield once more. “He comes and goes with little notice. Once, he didn’t come back for almost a year.”
A year! My heart slowed a little at the thought of not sparring with the enigmatic Edward Rochester for another twelve months. I couldn’t believe I was allowing myself to experience a sick sense of disappointment. I’d never needed the extended company of any man before, so why now? There was absolutely no reason why I should take his movements into consideration.
Alice didn’t seem to notice my anguish and went on, “I don’t know where he’s gone this time, but he goes to Paris quite a bit. He speaks French, you know.”
I did, but I kept it a secret close to my heart. Go, et j’y tiens…if you must. Only knowing those few little words seemed fitting for his abrupt departure.
Besides, I should be grateful to him for allowing work to proceed on the retreat and the free reign he’d given me to revive the hotel. I had my duty and my orders, and I had no right to expect his hands as well. The only tie he seriously acknowledged between us was the one of employer and employee.
Do not be so selfish to desire the heart and mind of the one man you are not worthy of matching, and hold back on giving a gift, which is no doubt unwanted and despised.
“Well, then we have a calm hotel to welcome us for the present,” I said, turning away from my despair. “And I have a chance to make preparations for the retreat without a devil on my shoulder.”
“You’re right, Jane,” Alice said, following me into the office. “We have our freedom from oppression! Tonight we shall party!”
Work resumed its usual pace going forth, but my mind was otherwise occupied to the point of blind obsession.
I was enraptured with Edward, and despite all my efforts to cease the behavior, nothing had slowed its growth. Much like the roses that climbed over the west wing of Thornfield, the mystery of his soul had ensnared me, and I was trapped in a desire of my own making. It was entirely one-sided and was a very slippery slope, akin to a patch of black ice.
Never was there a greater fool than Jane Doe! Had I never breathed a breath of air so fantastic that it filled my life and soul with its magic? I’d made myself sick on sweet lies and fantasies, like a child sickened itself on chocolates.
Jane Doe, you plain, little degenerate.
I threw myself into my work as it was the only thing I could control. When I finally closed the computer and put away the phone for the evening, I was exhausted—mentally and physically. I’d hardly moved away from the office for a bite to eat.
That was why I wasn’t sure if I was seeing clearly when I returned to my room.
Hanging on the doorknob was a red ribbon with an old brass key threaded through the silk. It wasn’t there when I’d emerged that morning, and I wondered if I’d missed it in my haste. I reached down and picked it up. It was the same brass key I’d seen sitting in the locks of the glass cabinets in the library. The exact one!
The tablet had not been a deterrent at all, then? I’d been granted use of the library in Edward’s absence? The master himself had given me this treasure?
I mulled over what I knew at great length as my fingertips studied the shape of the key. He’d given me everything I’d wanted, which was more than had been bestowed on me in my entire life. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to deserve any of it or why he cared to give it to me. Our few conversations had been abrupt, challenging, and mostly frustrating. None of it warranted generosity.
This tale was getting curiouser and curiouser as the days went by. I was too inexperienced to decipher this move on his behalf, and I decided not to think too much of it. I was already a fool in my own mind but to declare myself so to Edward? I couldn’t bare it if he looked at me with distain.
Retiring to my room, I hid the key with the tablet and decided I would try to find a new hideaway tomorrow.
Sleep was beyond me that night.
I tried to put my weary mind to rest, but I was unable to reconcile the thoughts that plagued me. I was too inexperienced in the feelings that threatened to overwhelm me and was unsure how to proceed. Deep longing and physical need were two things I’d never felt all at the same time, and my insides felt as if they were being beaten like the cook beat a piece of dough in the kitchens.
A scratching sound at my door roused me from my agony, and I sat up, listening. I frowned as I heard a heavy sigh rattle the air outside. What a curious sound!
“Hello?” I called out, reluctant to place my bare feet on the cold floor to investigate.
No reply came, and I stilled, listening to the silence, but the sound didn’t come again. Perhaps I should investigate to make sure.
I was never afraid of the dark as a c
hild and hadn’t batted a eyelid as an adult, so I slipped out of bed, opened the door without fear, and peered out into the hall.
The space beyond was empty, and not a soul disturbed the peace. Then what had been at my door? My imagination? No, I’d heard it clearly enough in my wakefulness—a scratching and a heavy breath. Someone had been at my door. It was unmistakable.
Deciding to explore further, I slipped into a pair of jeans and donned my boots, closing my bedroom door firmly behind me. As the mechanism clicked into place, a soft peal of laughter echoed down the hall. I recognized it immediately. It had the same aura of madness I’d heard on the first day I’d been in residence when Alice had shown me the upper floors of Thornfield.
I paused, listening to the silence as hard as I could, blood whooshing in my ears like static. The sound echoed again. I turned toward it and took a step forward. Then quick footsteps from someone unknown and another peal of laughter.
Feeling like I was being taunted, I followed the sound, determined to put an end to whatever game was being played upon me. I was quiet and little and kept to myself, which might be strange to some, but I was not easily made a fool of. I was strong willed enough and would not settle for bullying, if bullying this was.
“Hello?” I called out to the empty hall as I advanced, but no call was returned.
Rising to the third floor, I passed the door to the library and found it ajar. I didn’t dare peer inside, so I closed it and kept walking, investigating the far end of the hall.
I’d never been this far into the west wing before. Knowing Edward kept his rooms in this part of Thornfield, I had kept my distance, even though I’d been tempted to walk this way on occasion.
That was a different mystery than the one now luring me out into the darkness, so I pushed all thought of the man from my mind and concentrated on the silent hotel around me.
I enjoyed stories about phantoms and spirits, and I’d never really believed in them as such, but as the moon’s light played across the carpet in front of me, the old glass panes in the windows distorting the light, I almost began to think they were real. The lengthening shadows made everything feel otherworldly, like I’d stepped through my bedroom door into a dream world full of tricksters and nymphs, all of them delighting in leading me on a wild chase.
Turning the corner, I came upon a shadowy figure, and I stumbled, my heart racing. The person—for it was a human being—turned, and the light of the moon through the windows illuminated her face.
All at once, I recognized Grace Poole, the ghostly housekeeper who lingered in the dark corners of Thornfield, scarcely emerging from her hidey-hole to engage with the world. I wasn’t sure who I was expecting to find at the end of the trail of laughter, but it wasn’t her.
“Grace!” I exclaimed as she beheld me.
“Sorry to startle you, Miss,” she said, looking just as bewildered to find me as I was her.
“What are you doing out so late?”
“I may ask you the same,” she replied. “I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, I walk to clear my mind, but it’s too cold to go outside.”
My heart still beat furiously, my skin tingling with a sinister sensation. “I thought you were a ghost.”
“No, I’m no ghost, I assure you. The shadows are long, though. Sometimes, the halls give me a strange chill in the dark.”
“Were you laughing just now?” I asked, not sure I believed her explanation. I knew what I’d heard.
Grace’s eyebrows rose in surprise at my question. “Laughing, Miss? No.”
I couldn’t say more without revealing myself to be quite mad, so I edged away from the woman. “Well, goodnight then, Grace.”
“Goodnight,” she returned politely and walked away, her shoes shuffling along the carpet like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
I watched her until she disappeared around the corner, and then I lingered for a long moment, listening to the silence. Whatever sound I had heard had long disappeared into the night, and I was left feeling like I had chased a dream through the halls.
Still, as I hastened back to my room, I had an otherworldly sense that eyes were watching my progress. Whose eyes, I didn’t know, but they were there.
When I returned to my room, I made sure my door was locked tightly.
I hardly heard anything Alice had to say in the office when I went down the next morning.
I pondered Grace’s position at Thornfield and came to realize no one had explained what she did and why she seemed to be paid more than the other staff for whatever it was she was expert in. Her behavior seemed rather odd, too. Laughing to herself in the halls in the dead of night was in the realm of madness.
“Alice,” I said, not able to take it anymore.
“Yes?” the woman asked, glancing up from her work.
“What exactly does Grace Poole do at Thornfield?”
“She’s in charge of cleaning the out-of-the-way places,” Alice said absently. “This old place gets infested with mold and spores if we don’t keep on top of it. All those paintings and tapestries are quite delicate.”
“So Grace is a specialty cleaner?” I inquired.
“Hmm,” she replied, typing something into the computer.
“It’s very strange,” I went on.
At this, Alice glanced at me, signaling I was successful in raising her curiosity. “How so?”
“She only appears at dinner, and then she disappears, not to be seen again until the next night,” I explained, deliberately leaving out my encounter with her in the darkened halls.
Alice shrugged at my declaration as if she was used to the strange comings and goings of the woman.
“But why doesn’t anybody mention it?” I asked. “It’s odd the way she creeps about.”
“Grace is a bit of a loner, but she’s harmless,” Alice assured me. “She performs her duties well and isn’t a hindrance.”
“I suppose not,” I murmured, still feeling uneasy about the woman, but it wasn’t my place to keep pestering Alice about it. I would keep an eye on the mysterious Grace Poole and take notes. If she was up to something sinister, then I would catch her eventually.
What I didn’t understand was why no one seemed to mind her mannerisms. She wasn’t the only strange occurrence to have crossed my path while walking the halls of the hotel. There was some gossip I was excluded from, and several times, I’d overheard curious conversations that ceased abruptly when I entered a room.
There was a mystery at Thornfield, and I was purposely kept from it. Perhaps it was because I was still new to the surroundings, but with time, I’d be privy to all the comings and goings of the hotel. Country folk were known to be more distrusting of newcomers than most.
Whatever it was, it certainly mustn’t be anything sinister. Otherwise, something would have been done about it long ago. I wasn’t living in the confines of a novel or film, and real life scarcely held the same fantastical qualities of a good story.
No good would come from my digging for clues. I had come to value my position at Thornfield, so I allowed Alice to go on believing I’d been placated by her vague explanation.
There were too many phantoms in this old house in the absence of life.
10
The last breath of winter turned into spring, and the grounds of Thornfield came alive with color.
All shades of green reappeared across the field and moor, the heather dotted the landscape with tiny purple flowers, and the roses, which clung to the whole west wing of the manor, erupted in bloom. It rained quite often, the sound pattering softly against the windowpanes, and when it cleared, the garden was brightened, and the sky saw shades of blue I’d forgotten existed.
The earth was renewed after its long slumber, but I felt as if my world had shrunk to include only a single lonely soul. My time was much in demand. The organization of the artist retreat was coming along and would go ahead in the autumn months. The office had undergone its technological renovations and had changed greatly.<
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I floated among the excitement, unable to enjoy my part in bringing it about. I had underestimated the way the master of the manor had twisted himself into my being, and his absence left a void I had not known was wanting in the first place.
I never found a replacement for my hideaway, so I passed long hours in the library, listening for footsteps which never came. Now the weather permitted it, I spent much of my free time in the grounds straining to hear the thunderous approach of the black stallion. None of these things happened, so I began to drown in the same feeling of stagnation that had driven me to be on the road the night Edward first appeared to me.
Spring faded into the first days of summer, and coats and sweaters were discarded for cooler sleeveless shirts and sunglasses. The sun showed its face more and more, and then something unexpected happened.
One morning, after rising early due to the brightness of the sun through my bedroom window, I came down to the gallery and found quite a commotion.
Kitchen staff were running through the dining room setting tables, housekeeping were unloading linens from a truck outside, Alice was darting to and fro, her eyes wild with panic, and I stared at the uncharacteristic view of the hotel wondering if something had been set on fire. This must be what it would look like when all the rooms were full at the same time, if they would ever be again.
“Alice,” I cried, catching her arm as she flew past. “What’s the matter?”
“I got a call late last night,” she replied, looking quite ready to tear her hair out. “There are to be fifteen guests arriving this afternoon! Fifteen! Damn that man and his whims!”
“Fifteen?” I exclaimed. “Do they all want separate rooms? That’s half the hotel!”
“Everyone’s in an uproar,” she went on, hardly hearing me. “We need linen on the beds, towels in the rooms, food in the kitchen!”
“Who is coming?” I began to tremble, hardly daring to hope.
“Rocky and his friends, of course!” Alice said, grasping my forearms. “Everything must be perfect!”